Hi guys - I'm finally back with this story-

*dodges ammunition from a tomato cannon*

Geez. Well, I'll let you guys get to it, but first, a quick warning to those people who don't know what this story is about. This story contains rape, abuse, bullying, and gore in spades. If any of those things really bother you or are a trigger, then this is not the story for you - if you can stomach it, then read on.

*edit* Okay, for some reason, the first paragraph of this got cut off when I first published this. It is now fixed. Ugh.

She probed the cut on the inside of her cheek with her tongue, wincing as new pain lanced through the wound and the taste of fresh blood broke into her mouth, dull and coppery. She cupped her hands under the faucet and drank, swishing the lukewarm water around to try and wash that awful metallic taste out of her mouth. Blood-tinted water splashed into the basin of the sink, turning parts of the white porcelain orange for a split second before evidence of what happened swirled down the drain. The faucet droned on, a comforting background murmur as she spat again.

Zelda finally turned off the faucet and looked up at herself in the mirror. Shame and horror alike bubbled sluggishly in her gut when she saw bruises blooming like lilacs on her throat and her left cheek – they were faint now, barely shadows against her skin, but she bet that later they would look far worse. She would have to cover them up somehow. Maybe some of Momma's makeup-

Her sleeve inched back as she slowly reached up touch the marks staining her neck, accidentally flashing a matching bruise circling her thin wrist to her reflection.

(calloused hands clamping over her wrists like shackles cold and hard and cruel-)

She quickly yanked her sleeves back down over her wrists, her hands curling into tight fists to keep them there. Her skin crawled under her clothes and her lips pursed as she struggled to push the memory away, but this entire school smelled just like-

(the scent of dust)

(sweat)

(him)

Zelda blinked away the tears that suddenly prickled at her eyes, wiping at her cheek when one traitorously trickled over her bruise. Her ribs hiccupped up and down in a soft sob before she could smother it with her hand.

"This is not the place to cry," she told herself, repeating the mantra over and over again, the lilt she gave to it making it sound like a prayer. The repetition was successful, and she calmed down within a couple minutes. Her face relaxed into a stony, careful mask. The only things betraying her were her red eyes and the dampness on her cheek.

And the bruises. Those weren't so easily covered and corrected.

She needed to leave before anyone saw her like this. Questions were the last thing she wanted - a swell of anxiety built up and burst inside her when she thought of having to actually say what had happened if someone asked. She didn't want to talk to anyone. Not the nurse, not the principal, not her classmates, no one.

But could she tell Momma?

"What would she do?" she asked her reflection in a whisper, who only stared back at her with dubious eyes and disheveled hair. Zelda honestly had no idea what Momma would say if she told her what had happened. There were too many variables – her mood, how she told her, what exactly she kept hidden from her. Did she tell her everything or-

She groaned in frustration, turning away from the mirror and leaning against the counter. Pain stabbed through her lower abdomen; she cringed, one hand quickly darting up from her side to cradle her stomach. A now familiar agony crashed through her lower body in slow, uncomfortable waves, leaving her close to screaming. Why did it hurt so much even now? Was this a punishment from the gods for her mistake? She grit her teeth as the pain ebbed away and shoved the difficult questions away. Those were for later, just like the crying – she was sure they would go hand in hand.

Gods, all she wanted was to cling to her mother and ask her to fix everything - pray for her soul, make the pain go away, take her out of school, whisk her off far away from this wretched little town. But at the same time, she might damn her,

(because it was my fault)

lock her in her bedroom, hit her and call her a slut, a whore…

(because I am I am if I hadn't-)

Or worse. Momma might get mad, and when she was mad, she got even more unpredictable than usual. Zelda had only seen the full extent of her wrath once or twice, and it was awful, even if it hadn't been directed towards her.

She chewed on her thumbnail anxiously as she thought, her eyes flicking over to the door every once in a while to make sure no one was walking in on her. If she did find out and she did get mad, at least it wouldn't be for awhile. Momma was sick right now

(if sick was the right word for it)

and she didn't care what Zelda did as long as she didn't wake her up and came when she was called. Normally, this bothered her, but now (and she felt somewhat guilty for thinking this) she was thankful that Momma was in the middle of one of her episodes and was too wrapped up in her own problems to ask Zelda how her day was. She didn't think she would be able to keep a straight face if she was met with any sort of interrogation-

Zelda jumped to attention and accidentally let out a shrill scream when the door opened, welcoming in a somewhat stocky girl in a skirt much shorter than Zelda's was allowed to be. She was twisted towards the hallway, laughing loudly at something someone standing outside had said, but Zelda would recognize that fiery red hair anywhere.

Malon turned towards the sharp noise, letting the door close behind her. Her pretty, round face quickly twisted into a smirk, her muscular legs held slightly apart and steady. Zelda stared at her with watery eyes, her lips pressing together into a thin line. Her lower body was being wracked with so much pain from her sudden, startled movement that she felt like she was going to vomit, but there was no way she would ever show Malon Filly any sort of weakness. She preyed on that.

"What is that face, LaMorte? Did you look at yourself in the mirror again?" Her face melted into an expression loaded with too much mockery to be called pity. "You think you would have stopped doing that a long time ago." She laughed, then walked across the bathroom to the stall furthest from the door.

As she passed, Zelda turned to watch her go, her face still drawn and slightly pained. Sometimes she was sorely tempted to respond in kind even if it wasn't right, but she was too shell-shocked right now to do much more than shake her head mutely. The lights flickered above them with a low, snapping buzz, but Malon didn't seem to notice as she locked herself in the khaki colored stall.

Zelda turned back to the mirror and began to fix her hair hurriedly, wanting to leave before Malon came back out of the bathroom – normally she ignored what the other girl said, but she could feel her eyes beginning to fill with tears. Today was just not one of those days where everything could just roll off her back. Anything that could have been considered hard or strong about Zelda had been momentarily peeled away,

(you like this don't you, say you like it)

(slut)

(only way anyone will ever want you)

exposing everything and leaving it raw. She sniffed as she looked at herself in the mirror, decided that she looked normal enough to go out into the hall, then turned, bent, and picked up her messenger bag with one hand. She winced as her abdomen cried out in protest, but she made it back into a standing position with some help from the counter. She heard the toilet flush, and she quickly walked over and bashed open the door with her shoulder, letting out a sigh of relief once she was out of the grey bathroom and into the sunny, window filled hallway.

Zelda turned and hadn't made it two steps before a pair of very familiar sneakers jutted into her field of vision. She froze and quickly snapped her head up, confusion and surprise quickly draining away and making a pit of terror in her stomach. Malon's boyfriend regarded her with a small smile on his face, his shoulders slouched and Malon's blue backpack hanging from one hand. A quick pang of agony shuddered up her spine, like a reminder get away get away-

(you're pretty when you cry)

"Are you okay? You look a bit pale," Dark said plainly, no hint of remorse or sincerity in his cool voice. Her cheeks flamed bright red, ashamed and embarrassed when she saw him clearly look her up and down, his gaze lingering on her neck and the bruises that had been left there. Zelda sucked in a deep breath and took a quick step back, horrified, then gave him a wide berth and ran past him, her bag banging against her hip and her skirt flapping and her lower body screaming in pain with every awkward, lunging step get away get away-

Dark watched her go, the corner of his mouth pulled up in a lopsided, unconscious smile. Malon walked out of the bathroom a couple seconds later, taking her backpack from his waiting hand with a 'thanks' and a look down the hallway to see what he was staring at. A thin giggle snuck between her teeth.

"Why the hell is she running like that?" she said, her amusement trilling its way into her words as she slipped her arms through the straps of her backpack.

Dark only shrugged in response, still smiling to himself, then took her hand as they walked outside to enjoy the lovely spring day for what remained of the lunch hour.

So from the get-go, we have a lot of changes, some minor and some major. If you're an old reader, let me know what you think of the changes, and if you're a newbie, let me know what you think too.

Also, I'm currently working on a rewrite of another story called Empathy and the first chapter is up - that's on my profile if you're interested.

Okay, so I've got self-plugging out of the way, and the asking for reviews... Mmmm... I think that's it. I hope you'll stick with me while I try to get more chapters of this out while school and swimming is going on.

Much love,

~Eva